


Tyyntä myrskyn

by Worffan101



Series: Four Badasses In Westeros [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I blame AH.com, Jaime Lannister is a badass, Lady Death is tired of men being idiot heroes, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Ned Stark is going to need a wig soon at this rate, Sansa gets some Finnish training, Stannis has a stick up his ass, Tyrion is the best, aw hell I ship White Death and Lady Death, but the Baratheon family dysfunction doesn't help, little quiet character moments before it all goes to hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6458587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worffan101/pseuds/Worffan101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continued adventures of four real-world soldiers in Westeros.  Featuring Jaime Lannister being a badass, the Others, Sansa getting trained to fight by one of the greatest warriors in human history, and the incredibly important argument over "Which moonshine is better, Finnish vodka or Westerlands brew?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tyyntä myrskyn

_King's Landing_  
  
"Thumb on the outside," said Aarne Juutilainen. "You never get into a fight, girl?"  
  
"No, ser," Sansa Stark replied with just a bit of rancor. "Septa Mordane says that proper ladies do not get into brawls like common drunks."  
  
The Finn snorted. "What the hell do they teach you around here? Children squabble, that is how the world works." He shook his head. "Damn stupid country. Alright, now, thumb on the outside--good. Now, if a man comes for you, and he wants to hurt you, he's going to target the face and hair, and the upper arm. You need to hit him in the nose, in the neck, or under the chin--the chin is a little less likely to work, though, at your weight. Now, where you hit depends on how badly you want to break him. If you punch his throat, he can very well die. The face, he'll just yell and hold his face for a bit, giving you the chance to get out of there." Juutilainen nudged Sansa's leg inwards a little bit. "Not so wide on the stance there, you still have to move afterwards. Alright. Balls of your feet, move your weight forward--good. Now. Jory, the board. Hold, here, hands here, here. Sansa, make a fist--good. Now, break the board."  
  
"What?" asked Sansa incredulously.  
  
"Break the board," indicated Juutilainen, picking up another from a pile beside him with one hand. "It is not hard. It is a pine board, and a rather thin one. Here, I will show you." He gave Jory Cassel a moment to set himself, then punched through the board in one sharp snap of his arm. "Here, hold this one." He swapped the board he was holding with the halves of Jory's. "Hold it lower for her. See, Ladyship? That is how you kill a man without a weapon. Punch his neck like I punched the board. Go on, try it!"  
  
Sansa gulped, looking at the board, which seemed a great deal thicker than it had before. She balled her fist again, remembering to put the thumb on the outside.  
  
"Go on, girl. In a real fight, you would be dead or worse by now. That is why we use the board for now, it cannot fight back. But, you must learn to act swiftly, girl! In a real fight, a wicked man could have subdued you easily by now and bound you to carry away. Or killed you. Either way, not good."  
  
Sansa remembered what her father had said about her Aunt Lyanna, dying on a bed of rotting roses soaked in blood, and something she didn't quite understand boiled up inside. Her vision tunneled on the board, and she _lunged_ with a most unladylike shriek.  
  
There was a sharp _crack_. The board snapped in two. Sansa felt a sharp sting, morphing into a dull ache, from her knuckles, but little more.  
  
She turned to Juutilainen at his grunt of approval. The Finnish man was smiling, teeth peeking out from behind his lips. "Good. Very good. Now we can really begin to train."  
***  
"Stupid, idiot, senseless Finnish сучий син!" Lyudmila growled, checking the Finn's healing scalp for the second scheduled time today. "Getting shot in the face wasn't enough for you, eh?" She slapped Simo's hands away as she gently rubbed the poultice off with a washcloth. "Do not interfere, Finnish сучий син! The doctor's orders were very specific."  
  
Simo grumbled unintelligibly. "I am not a baby, you damned Soviet. I can take care of myself!"  
  
"Not a baby? Not a baby! Ha! Who but a baby would take a man three times his size on in close combat, eh? You are a sniper, сучий син! Bикористовувати чортів пістолет! Er, use the fucking gun!"  
  
"He hit _Iso koira_ ," muttered the White Death. "What was I supposed to do, eh? The man was beating a dog!"  
  
"Let the Capitalist degenerate handle it, бовдур! He took down a Hitlerite tank division by himself, he is not a mortal man! You are a sniper, you are a mortal man just as I am a mortal woman." The Ukrainian swiftly batted the Finn's hands from his forehead again and briskly applied another poultice. "Now. You leave this on, and the other Finnish bastard will be here later to put on the next one. If you do anything the doctor did not tell you to, I will throw you from this window myself, Finnish dog. Understand?"  
  
" _Kyllä, kyllä, ymmärrän ..._ " muttered the Finn. "I will stay in bed, and only move around a little, lady sniper."  
  
"Good. Now, I must meet with Tywin Lannister regarding payment. Then, with Audie Murphy. We must check our ammunition supplies; something is wrong."  
  
"Wrong? With our ammunition?" The Finn half-sat-up before wincing and lying back down slowly. "That is bad, very bad."  
  
Lyudmila shook her head. "It makes no sense, Finn! I always carry spare bullets in my pouch, but my main ammunition supplies that came with me are in Tywin Lannister's house. And I used many bullets, indeed as many as I brought with me, since I have left that place."  
  
"You are out of ammunition? We shall have to adapt some of mine, then..."  
  
"Біла смерть, my pouch of bullets is still full."  
  
Simo went absolutely still. "Impossible."  
  
"It is true. I checked this morning myself. I will be speaking with the Capitalist degenerate about this later, and we will work on an inventory."  
  
"Good, good," mused White Death as the Ukrainian shut the door. Something niggled at the back of his mind...but he dismissed it. Whatever it was that had caused this...oddity, would wait until the meeting.  
***  
Eddard Stark closed the door to his chambers with an exhausted sigh, and rested his forehead on the painted wood. "Old gods, give me the strength to not strangle a Lord Paramount before the Iron Throne..."  
  
"A long day, my lord?" his wife asked from their bed, where she sat reading a book by candlelight.  
  
" _That_ is an understatement," the Lord of Winterfell groused as he took off his cape, boots, and badge of office. "A raven arrived from the Eyrie; Ser Andar Royce has seized the Eyrie with Lord Nestor's aid, and his father claims the guardianship of Lord Robert Arryn. Bronze Yohn and Ser Robar are here in King's Landing, and Robert immediately called them for an _interminable_ meeting." He tried and failed to stifle a yawn. "Gods. Bronze Yohn is an honorable man, I believe, but must he _haggle_ so damned much?"  
  
"Lysa?" Catelyn asked carefully. Eddard tried very, very hard not to let his rage at Lysa Tully for _keeping his wife in the godsdamned sky cells_ show.  
  
"Alive and imprisoned. Not in the sky cells, in a secure room. Lord Royce wishes to keep her alive to face the King's Justice for her acts of sedition."  
  
"I hope that His Grace has mercy," Catelyn said with a touch of a frown. "I...I am truly angry at Lysa, yes, but she is not a monster, not really; she is merely...disturbed, in her mind. I doubt that Petyr helped with her state, from what you have told me."  
  
"I...will see if I can convince Robert," Ned forced between his teeth. "Although I myself am quite upset that she would put my lady wife in the sky cells for weeks on end."  
  
"It was not that long," Catelyn noted, moving over slightly to make room as her husband sat on the bed and took off his doublet. "Lord Tyrion was not the best company, but conducted himself far more honorably than I would have expected from a Lannister, and your men rescued us before hunger or thirst could become too much of a problem. But enough of this, we have discussed this subject far too often of late. What of your desire to strangle a Lord Paramount?"  
  
"Mace Tyrell," growled Ned, and yawned in spite of himself. "He is coming to King's Landing, with his daughter and a host of retainers. He is most assuredly trying to marry off his daughter to Robert, which would not only needlessly antagonize Tywin Lannister, but also cast false aspersions on our recent actions on the matter of Cersei and her brother, potentially setting the realm at odds once again." Ned growled angrily, causing the ears of the massive wolf whose head was resting by Catelyn's side to perk up. "I am _done_ with petty feuding lordlings and Southron plots. I'm going to clean up this damned city for Robert, and then I want nothing more than to return to Winterfell with you and the children. If I don't...the office of the Hand will see me dead, sooner or later."  
  
"I certainly would like you back in Winterfell with me," Catelyn agreed, "but you are making good progress in cleaning up this hive, and your new guards are extremely efficient." The wolf whined from her side and clambered half-over the bed and licked Ned in the face. "...and there is a direwolf who apparently likes you who follows me around everywhere. If nothing else, Ned, you need not worry about me or the children; _Iso koira_ and the guards will keep us safe. And if you take Murphy, Häyhä, or perhaps Juutilainen with you..."  
  
"True, true," Ned allowed, blinking heavily and rubbing the wolf spit from his face as he tried to stay awake. "They would kill the vipers before I could be struck. But they are only three, and even if Tywin Lannister is pacified, this city is still a nest of vipers. And the vipers only need to strike once."  
  
_Iso koira_ whined. Catelyn scratched her behind the ears. Ned shook his head and lay back on the bed. "But enough of this. In truth, I do speak somewhat out of annoyance at the Tyrells. And at that damned eunuch, who hasn't even bothered to attend small council meetings in days; even Robert is starting to notice, and he still misses nearly a third of the damned things."  
  
"Try a good night's sleep," Catelyn suggested with the practical experience of a mother of five and wife of a busy lord. "Worry about your duties in the morning. Now, it is just us." She reached over and grabbed the candle, blowing it out as Ned slipped under the covers. Seconds later, _Iso koira_ lay herself across the humans' legs with a contented sigh.  
  
"...I really do need to teach her to sleep on the ground," Catelyn muttered to herself. A snore from her exhausted husband was her only reply.  
***  
_Beyond the Wall._  
  
"Hells, it's cold," swore one of the Black Brothers on Jaime Lannister's left.  
  
"I know what you mean," the knight replied with a shiver, wrapping his cloak tighter around him. "Too cold. Normally it's bad enough, but this is..."  
  
"Gets into yer bones," Hairy Hal agreed from the Kingslayer's right. "Ye can still fight though, right Lannister?"  
  
"Of course I can fight, what do you take me for?" Jaime replied indignantly. "I'm not _just_ some weak southerner."  
  
"Heh, true enough. Ye like that razor we got yer?"  
  
"The obsidian shaving-blade? Oh, yes, and thank you for that. It's so damned hard to get anything beyond the absolute bare essentials up here."  
  
"True enough, jus' don't get too used to it, eh? It's the prize for winnin' the betting fights, if some young'un unseats yer ye'll have to give it to 'im."  
  
"Oi, shut up, I heard something," Barleycorn said from Jaime's left. The five men stopped, Jaime gripping his blade. "Are you sure?" the knight whispered after a long, tense few seconds of silence.  
  
"Sure as the Old Gods. Someone moving, branch snapped."  
  
"Tarly, bring up that lantern," ordered Qhorin Half-hand, a doughty and experienced fighter who'd developed a quick rapport with Jaime. "Lannister, I draw the wildings out, you get around and flank them."  
  
"Good idea," Jaime growled. "Wait! Movement!"  
  
The men drew swords, fanning out slightly as a group of shapes stumbled from a small stand of scraggly pine trees ahead. "Wildings!" hissed Barleycorn. "Looks like we're going to see yer pretty blade in a real fight, Lannister!"  
  
"They're moving strangely, aren't they?" asked Jaime. He didn't really expect an answer; as the wildings got closer their strange, shuffling gait became obvious. "Something isn't right, get a couple of the torches lit from Tarly's lantern, quickly, we need some more damned light!"  
  
"Do it, come here quick!" Barleycorn concurred, a note of fear in his voice.  
  
Jaime, not having a torch himself, strode forwards. "The rest of you boys come behind me, Half-Hand and I are the best swordsmen. We'll lead. Snow, Jens, you follow." The black brothers agreed, quietly; Half-hand motioned for four men to start moving off in a flanking formation.  
  
"They ain't wearin' much, for wildings," a former cutpurse named Wylkes noted from behind Jaime. "Oy, something's not right here..."  
  
The closest wilding ahead of Jaime looked up. Half of her face was torn away, and the punctured, half-bloody eye that remained was fixed on him with inhuman malice. The ravaged mouth twisted into a half-sneer as the former human hissed with rage and lunged at Jaime with an axe.  
  
"Half-hand! They aren't men!" Jaime roared, and leaped into the fray.  
  
"Hold them off, Lannister! I'll flank them!"  
  
Jaime cut the first wight's axe arm off with one swing, checked his blade, and cut sideways to remove her head. "Gods! They're dead!" The headless, armless corpse continued to strike with its remaining arm at the Kingslayer, more monstrous forms moving in. "Damnation! It won't stop! They won't die!" He chopped again, cutting halfway through the ribcage before his blade stuck. "Damn!" He tugged at the blade, the corpse still sort of clawing itself forwards.  
  
"Shite! There's more coming!" Half-Hand's yell cut through the night. Jaime swore, stepping backwards hurriedly as the dead men continued their ceaseless assault.  
  
Tarly screamed like a woman, and Jaime half-turned. The fat ranger and young Snow had gotten separated from him and, hampered by the snow, had been surrounded by six wights, which now moved in rapidly. Snow cleaved into one with a shout, but it wasn't even fazed. Tarly yelped again as another wight swung a handaxe at him, and instinctively threw his lantern...  
  
The lantern shattered across the dead man's body, and he burst into flames. The wight fell to the ground, twitching spasmodically; the lantern's splash of flaming oil caught two nearby wights, too, and they stumbled backwards with shrieks of whatever passed for pain to them.  
  
"Fire," Jaime realized, then yelped and stumbled backwards as another wight's sword almost took his head. "FIRE! FIRE CAN HURT THEM!" Shit. The men were panicked; Half-hand had only two men behind him as the others, scattered in a panic. "No! Stay together, you idiots!" Shit. One of Half-hand's men fell, and the experienced ranger swore, making for Snow and Tarly, the former of whom was desperately trying to light a torch.  
  
Damn it. Jaime turned, sprinting laboriously through the snow, trying to reach Stark's bastard. To his right, Half-Hand's other man, Wylkes, screamed in terror as the dead men grabbed him, and stopped as a knife was rammed into his throat.  
  
Another scream, from one of the running rangers, now invisible through the trees. He babbled something incomprehensible in his panic, then shrieked again. This noise was abruptly cut off.  
  
Shit. There were more of these things? The damn things didn't _die_!  
  
Qhorin had made it to Snow, who had thankfully managed to light one of the torches. The older ranger was trying to light more of the damned things...  
  
Jaime felt clawed hands clasp around the edge of his cloak. "HALF-HAND! I NEED A TORCH!" His voice cracked with sheer terror; the ranger turned and swore.  
  
"Here, Lannister!" Qhorin tossed a lit torch underhand, flipping end over end as it flew. Jaime reached desperately, snatched the torch out of the air, turned, and rammed it into the first dead wilding's clothes.  
  
Mercifully, the creature caught fire easily, and whatever fell magics animated it failed as it fell, twitching spasmodically and burning even through the ever-present snow, to the ground.  
  
Another scream from the forest, abruptly cut off. Oh, gods.  
  
"Stick them with your blades and burn the bastards!" Jaime wheezed, getting into a ready stance as the wights closed in.  
  
"Come on! Help Lannister out!" Half-Hand and two other brothers, Barleycorn and Hal, who'd managed to rally, rushed up to stand beside Jaime, stabbing at the wights with torches and hacking desperately with their swords. The wights fell back, hissing angrily as the black brothers stood side by side "We outnumber them now!" Qhorin yelled as he lit another wight on fire and the creature stumbled back with a rattling, dry shriek.  
  
Damnation, but it kept getting colder, _too_ cold... "Push! Take them out!"  
  
"It's...too...fuckin'...cold," Hal shivered, teeth chattering as he clumsily blocked a wight's handaxe. Jaime turned towards him and cut the wight down, then returned to his place...  
  
Something else emerged from the trees, a tall, slender form of pale white, its body covered in mottled armor that...no. That was some sort of crystal or living ice, reflecting its surroundings, like the blade of the creature's sword--a fine blade of ice that made the air itself _steam_ as it passed, so cold that even this frigid air was like boiling water to it. The creature itself was man-shaped, tall and elegant, but its hair and skin were both unearthly pale, and its blue eyes burned with infinite malice. The white walker opened its mouth, and roared something with a sound like a mighty glacier cracking and shifting, the freezing hell-blade rising to point unerringly at Jaime's heart.  
  
The half-dozen remaining wights fell back, hissing in rage as the rangers pulled back to Tarly and Snow, who were still frantically lighting torches and sticking them upright in the snow. "What in the Seven Hells is that thing?" Jaime asked, trying to hide his fear.  
  
"It's straight from the tales my mother used to tell me," Qhorin whispered. "An Other, a god of winter, come to take us for the Long Night!"  
  
"We can't fight that!" Barleycorn quavered. "Look at the blade! A blade of ice, born of winter itself! And the dead obey it, it commands the dead!"  
  
"Stand firm!" Qhorin snarled, his voice hardening. "We have to stand firm!"  
  
"We can't fight that thing!" Barleycorn half-screamed, and he broke and ran.  
  
"Shite! No, come back, you idiot!"  
  
"Half-hand, someone needs to warn the Watch," Jaime said. "If there are more of these things..."  
  
"Damnation. Hal, get moving, get back to the wall and warn the Watch, take Tarly and Snow! Move!"  
  
"But Half-hand--"  
  
"But nothing! Lannister's right, we'll hold this thing off and try to meet you back at Castle Black!"  
  
The white walker had passed the line of wights, now, and was barely ten paces away. Hal swore, falling back and grabbing the younger rangers. "Come on, ye two!"  
  
Jaime and Qhorin raised their swords again, each with a torch at the ready, now. "How do you want to handle this?" Jaime hissed.  
  
"I take left, you take right, we try not to die," the black brother replied.  
  
Then the Other was there, steps soft and feather-light, leaving no impression on the snow even as it swung its blade, and there was no time to talk.  
  
The monster's first sweep sent Jaime stumbling backwards as Qhorin pulled around and tried for the creature's side. "Wight!" Jaime yelled, and Half-Hand twisted, lit the corpse on fire, and disarmed one of the remaining five at the elbow. "I'll focus on this thing, you keep those damned corpses from flanking us!"  
  
The Other's blade swept back faster than lightning. Jaime leaned back, feeling the breath seep from his lungs as the icy sword passed inches from his face. The Other roared something in its grinding tongue.  
  
"Got you!" Qhorin yelled, and stabbed the Other in the back with his torch. Jaime felt a thrill of victory...  
  
The torch's fire went out with a hiss. Jaime saw Qhorin's look of absolute horror as the Other stumbled forwards, then turned with a roar. "It didn't work! Why didn't it...gah!"  
  
Half-hand got his sword up just in time, but it did him no good. The Other's blade shattered Qhorin's like glass, and the older ranger fell backwards onto his back with a gasp of fear. Jaime threw his own torch at the monster's head. "HEY! YOU!"  
  
The Other turned, the divine wrath of an elder god in its eyes, and Jaime quailed in instinctive fear. "Yeah. Yes, you! Come and get a piece of me!"  
  
The Other snarled something, and motioned. The two remaining wights charged Jaime, forcing him back with a shout of rage. The Other chuckled, and turned back to Half-hand...just in time for Qhorin to stab it in the gut with the broken hilt of his sword.  
  
Six inches of jagged metal plunged into a chink in the Other's armor--and scraped off.  
  
" _Ur tanok kal!_ " snarled the Other, and it plunged its blade into Half-hand's abdomen. The older ranger went white and gurgled with pain, his eyes wide, then he slumped, eyes rolling back into his head.  
  
"NO!" Jaime yelled, cleaving off the last, skeletal wight's right arm and part of its leg, leaving it to stumble over and twitch ineffectively in the snow. The Other pulled its blade free and turned.  
  
Jaime raised his sword back into a ready position and readied one of Snow and Tarly's lit torches with a shout of defiance. The white walker's sneer turned into a snarl of rage as it beheld two mangled, broken-up wights instead of a dying black brother, and it broke into a charge, its icy blade seeking Jaime's heart. Jaime parried the first thrust aside, and his sword _screamed_ from the sudden chill. Damn. He stabbed back with the torch; the white walker swatted it out of his hand with contemptuous ease.  
  
Jaime's breath was coming faster now, the freezing air feeling thin and painful to inhale. The monster swung its sword in a decapitation stroke for Jaime's head; the former Kingsguard parried as he stumbled backwards. Steel met icy blade, and Jaime felt a tremor run up his arm as his sword _shrieked_ , the metal itself cracking and exploding into pieces along its length.  
  
Jaime fell back, landing on his back on the ground, his sword in icy fragments, the white walker striding up to impale him as Tarly yelled something from some ways off, but still too close, too close; _damn it, no, don't come back you idiots_...  
  
He rolled sideways, dodging the hell-blade as it plunged into the snow, the deathly cold aura suffusing the air around the knight as he scrabbled desperately for his only remaining weapon. "Keep running, don't come back! The Lord Commander needs to know!"  
  
" _Uk kra shatok!_ " growled the Other, stepping on Jaime's chest and forcing him to the ground as the knight's hand reached into his pocket and closed on his last hope. He raised his hand, grabbing the white walker's leg, and the monster slashed down.  
  
Jaime screamed as his off hand was torn from his arm, the stump instantly cauterized by the sheer, burning _cold_ of the icy sword. The white walker's pale blade rose again, its hissing growls and mutters of hatred like icebergs colliding as the human screamed in pain.  
  
Jaime stabbed it in the foot with the razor he'd won in the duels.  
  
The Other stumbled backwards with a shriek of agony, and Jaime barely managed to keep a hold on the fine Dragonstone obsidian as the creature jerked its steaming foot free. " _Ur kran naka!_ " the creature screamed, stamping its wounded foot into the snow repeatedly with a growl of pain as Jaime hauled himself to his feet through sheer adrenaline and desperation. " _Uk kra shatok nazh! Ur tanok kal!_ " There was a language there, Jaime noted, a pattern, but he didn't have the time to think about that right now.  
  
A man in a black cloak faced an angel of icy damnation, his little obsidian shaving-knife a laughable child's toy against the hell-blade of the Other. The monster stalked forwards again, limping slightly on its injured leg.  
  
"Come and get me," Jaime goaded, his voice shaking from cold, fear, and sheer pain. "I fucked your mother, and your wife, and your sister and daughter! I took your grandmother on your wedding bed! You're an ugly bastard without claim to so much as a broken-down nag!" It may not have known the words, but it recognized the tone. "COME ON, YOU BASTARD! I'm right here!"  
  
The Other growled another harsh phrase and leaped; Jaime ducked under its frenzied slash, coming to a kneeling position by the monster's side, and rammed the obsidian into its neck, using his momentum and body weight to force the monster off of its feet and to the ground. It howled in agony, writhing spasmodically as its body cracked and splintered, the hell-blade falling unheeded from its grasp as the touch of dragonglass burned into its flesh. The dying Other grabbed blindly, grasping Jaime's face, and the knight screamed in agony as the icy touch of the Other's hand burned across the right side of his head.  
  
Another, louder shriek, and the white walker exploded into fragments, its icy flesh melting into a puddle of water that swiftly soaked into the snow.  
  
Ser Jaime Lannister crumpled, rolling onto his back with the last of his strength. It was so damn cold. And dark. He just wanted to sleep all of a sudden...Half-hand had warned him about this, poor bastard...what were those voices? Didn't he tell the others to run? Those idiots. Why couldn't anyone do their damned job anymore?  
  
The last thing Jaime saw before everything went black was the blurry form of Samwell Tarly standing over him, reaching down.  
***  
_The Red Keep_  
  
Audie Murphy was very, very suspicious of the Tyrells.  
  
"That young woman, she's out for something," he noted to the Hound, who was seated with Audie and his fellow offworld soldiers at the high table at the King's insistence. "She knows she's pretty, like Hedy Lamarr or Liz Taylor, and she's going to try to use it."  
  
"Yeah, the Tyrells are all 'we're pretty, like us!'," growled the Hound under his breath. "They're all like that. Cunts." He spat to his side, causing a slight pause from some of the more polite people present.  
  
'The polite people' did not, as usual, include Robert Baratheon, who was regaling all present with a long-winded description of how Juutilainen had whipped him into something resembling good physical condition. It seemed to involve something like Army basic training, along with a lot of running around carrying massive loads and hauling around giant anvils.  
  
"So then he says, 'This way, that you were taught, it is the weak and pathetic way of the Soviets. Now we will do things the Finnish way.' So he starts piling up rocks and tells me to bring him a big leather bag, so I do that, and he puts the rocks in the bag. Then he says, 'put this on your back and run around the castle thirty times, build some discipline.' And I look at him like he's mad! He says, 'you want to prove that you're not just a fat drunken cocksucker? You want to be a soldier? Then you put the fucking rocks on your fucking back and start running.' And he just crosses his arms and stands there glaring at me. And now, I'm drunk, so I think, Seven Hells, why not? So I put that godsdamned sack on my back and start running!" The King roared with laughter at the memory. "Fat worthless mess, I was! Barely made it all thirty laps! I was practically crawling by the end." He downed a hefty swig of chilled beer and belched. "So that's Juutilainen here for you! Damn good man, with real iron _discipline_ like you don't get these days, knows how to fight and sweat and run and punch and train like a real MAN!"  
  
"Truly, Your Grace, the entire realm knows well of your martial prowess," flattered Mace Tyrell, seated one seat down from the King. Stannis Baratheon's grinding teeth weren't audible yet, but the Hound had promised they would be by the end of the feast at the latest.  
  
Audie took a moment to look over the table. Tywin Lannister had long ago ceased to pay attention to the King and was now deep in conversation with Ned Stark, who was seated between him and the King. On Robert's other side, Stannis Baratheon was red as a beetroot and gritting his teeth at his brother's impropriety. The fact that Mace Tyrell was sitting next to him and unctuously sucking up to the King didn't help at all.  
  
Audie and the Hound were several seats down, being pointedly ignored by the disgruntled Tyrells (apparently they were outraged that "mere commoners" would be allowed a seat with high nobility), although at least Tyrion Lannister had the decency to chat. The dwarf and Simo Häyhä were locked in a deep and apparently extremely passionate debate over whether Finnish-style or Westerlands-style moonshine was superior, as the Soviet woman refereed to keep the Finn, who was still recovering from his head injury, from drinking too much.  
  
"If I may, Your Grace," simpered Lord Tyrell again, "may I introduce to you my lovely daughter Margaery?"  
  
The King looked up from his beer and down at the young woman seated about five seats down, who Audie Murphy saw surreptitiously tug slightly on the belly region of her dress to pull her cleavage down more without being too obvious. Audie shook his head slightly. The King had been so occupied with his grueling training recently that he hadn't even gone out for prostitutes in two weeks, and he tended to be hard to distract when he was in the middle of something out of sheer contrariness. It wasn't _that_ hard, according to Juutilainen, to distract the King with a pretty girl, but you had to have at least a little _tact_ and remember that he was actually an intelligent man beneath the lechery, drunkenness, recovering depression, and temper.  
  
"She looks alright," the King said with a nod, eyeing the cleavage appreciatively but remembering enough discipline to not make an overly lecherous remark, settling for an only moderately lecherous remark. "Bit short and soft for my tastes, unless I'm a little into my cups, though she's got nice tits--if I were in my cups, heh, Ned and Lannister would be killing me tomorrow morning!" He laughed loudly, toasting the blushing young woman as Stannis ground his teeth and both Ned Stark and Tywin Lannister turned to shoot disapproving looks at the king before turning back to their conversation on paying the Iron Bank. "Heh, she'll make a fine young man happy someday soon, give him something to come back to from his hunts. Oh, hey, Tyrell, that just reminded me. I was going to go for a nice big hunt tomorrow evening, because I'm judging the Crownlands cases early tomorrow, and I was going to take Ned and Lannister and Stannis, but Lannister and Ned have too much work or some shite like that, so I'm bringing Juutilainen instead since he's a real man. You want to come? Kill a boar, makes me feel like more of a man every time." He took a swig of his beer. "Ahhh, that's the stuff! Juutilainen, you know how to pick a beer! So, Tyrell, what do you say, you up to hunt like a real man?"  
  
"Of course, Your Grace, I would be honored to accompany you on your grand hunt," Mace Tyrell assured unctuously, though his face had gone slightly wan. A vein on Stannis's forehead began to pulse visibly.  
  
"Good, good--I'll show you and your lad how a real man spears a boar, then." The king downed another beer and belched. "Seven hells, there's no greater sport in the world than taking a good, strong spear, sticking it in a damn big boar, and holding it there until the beast finally gives up and dies!" Mace Tyrell hastened to agree in flowery terms. Stannis ground his teeth.  
  
"Damn, didn't see that one coming," the Hound muttered. "Guess your friend really did hammer in some discipline into him."  
  
"That Finnish training is something from hell," Audie replied. "Makes Basic look downright easy, by comparison. No wonder the Finns threw the Soviets out on their ears."  
  
"Whatever he did, it's working," the Hound muttered back. "Hey, we're going out with Bywater again in two days, right?"  
  
"No, the King wanted us on the hunt, Juutilainen told me earlier. I'm going to make our excuses to Bywater tomorrow."  
  
The Hound grunted. "Alright. And the next meeting..."  
  
"Same tavern, same time, in a month barring unusual circumstances," the American confirmed. "The commie wants to check our ammo stores first, though, if you want to help out."  
  
"Happy to, Murphy. Especially if that death god is there, heh. I owe him for Gregor; I owe him a damn lot." He raised a glass. "Hey, Häyhä! A toast! A toast to my damn brother's grave!" Stannis's eyebrow twitched and the conversation quieted for a moment before the King, who thankfully had been too busy telling a bawdy joke to Lord Tyrell to hear, roared with laughter at his own jest and pounded Stannis on the back, saying something about Stannis's manhood being "so great that he can't even fuck whores for fear for their health, and for breaking that stick up his arse". The conversation picked up again, just a little bit louder this time.  
  
"Alright," grinned the Finn. "Toasting to the _iso roisto_ with this inferior Westerosi slop will be a great dishonor to him! Here! To the corpse of the vile _raiskaaja paska_!"  
  
"It's still better than that clear, flavorless shite you call booze, Finn," grumbled Tyrion Lannister, but he joined the toast all the same.  
***  
The king was pretty clearly bored as he heard the complaints and suits of what seemed like every self-important lord, oily merchant, and angry peasant in the region, Juutilainen thought, but if one paid attention to his decisions, there was definitely a decent mind at work.  
  
Admittedly, one openly interested in screwing over the increasingly disgruntled nobles of the Crownlands, but still a decent mind. And from what Juutilainen had gathered, the Crownlands men had fought against the king in the last war, so there was that unfortunate personal factor that always came from civil wars.  
  
"Easy on the wine, sir. You are a soldier, not a drunk, remember?" Juutilainen hissed out the corner of his mouth. The king grunted in acknowledgement and waved his squire over, setting aside the Arbor gold for some light beer.  
  
"Your Grace," said Lord Stark, as the king sent away two feuding merchants with an even split of the disputed business's profits and a warning not to let their dispute affect regular trade lest their combined assets be confiscated, "the next case is one of Baelish's men."  
  
"Oh?" The king sat up straighter, a little gleam in his eye. There was a murmur among the smallfolk and nobility who'd been brought into the hall to see the "King's Justice" carried out; the Watch's lightning raids on the former Master of Coin's businesses were the talk of the city. "Well, bring him forward, I don't have all day!"  
  
A slightly bruised, rather dirty man in clothes that were only a little torn and stained was hauled forwards, protesting all the while, by two local police as Audie Murphy, the Hound, and a man Juutilainen recognized as Jacelyn Bywater, the new commander of the local police, walking alongside. Bywater stepped slightly ahead of the others and bowed.  
  
"Jacelyn Bywater, Lord Commander of the city watch, presenting the prisoner 'Medium' Dave Smythe, formerly proprietor of the White Pearl house of ill repute, and arresting officers Sandor Clegane, current holder of Clegane Keep and head of the knightly House Clegane, and Audie Murphy, on loan from the personal guard of the Lord Hand. My full report on the White Pearl raid has been submitted to the Master of Laws."  
  
The King grunted and turned to his brother. "Stannis, did you get that report?"  
  
"I did," confirmed Stannis, passing a scroll to his brother, who grudgingly took it and read. "There were no irregularities. All of the coin and employees that were on the...business's...books as being present were accounted for, and all suspects were arrested. Not all of the money stolen from the Crown was recovered, however."  
  
"Your Grace, this man is a prime suspect of being an accomplice in the theft of some two hundred thousand dragons from the Crown's treasury," added Tyrion Lannister from his seat. There was a rustle of gasps and quiet whistles from the crowd. Smythe cringed. "Commander Bywater, can you confirm this?"  
  
"As my report says, milord, we did not recapture all of the stolen money, as expected for such an operation. However, we did salvage some twenty thousand dragons from the Pearl establishment alone, and hope to retrieve more from an official auction."  
  
"And you say that these two men caught this bastard red-handed?" the king asked.  
  
"Yes, Your Grace. Clegane performed the arrest, and Murphy held the prisoner until he was transferred into the custody of Watch regulars. Upon search and interrogation, a book of ledgers was found that the suspect alleges to be the personal monetary records of the late traitor Baelish--our investigation confirmed this information as detailed in the report."  
  
The king grunted again and looked over the scroll quickly. "Well, this all looks pretty damning to me. Oi, Smythe, you have anything to say for yourself?"  
  
"Please, yer Grace, don't kill me," Smythe whined. "You don't know what it's like, yer Grace, being smallfolk and not knowing where the next meal's coming from, and Baelish, he planned everything, I just took a little off the top of my cut, you know, just perks! I didn't do nothing wrong, please, have mercy!"  
  
"You were complicit in treason against the Crown, the penalty for which is death!" snapped Stannis angrily. The king held up a hand.  
  
"Stannis, wait just a moment. Smythe, the dwarf here says that the Crown hasn't been able to get back all the money that Baelish stole. So here's your offer, take it or take Stannis's proposal. You get the money back from wherever it's been hidden, and I let you go to Braavos with the clothes on your back and your manhood intact. Your decision." Stannis ground his teeth, but Lord Stark nodded in agreement. "What do you think, Stannis, Ned?"  
  
"A merciful and just proposal, Your Grace, and one that may help the Master of Coin with his duties," Lord Stark replied. Stannis growled something about the law. Robert grunted and nodded in acknowledgement.  
  
"Alright, then, you little rat, what do you say?"  
  
"Oh, truly you are just and merciful, Your Grace," babbled Smythe. "Verily, the tales told of your magnanimity and..."  
  
"Come on, spit it out before Stannis grows another stick up his ass," Robert grumbled. Smythe apologized in an unctuous babble, bowing and scraping.  
  
"Oh, Your Grace, of course, I am ever your loyal servant, I will help in any way that I can, I swear, Your Grace..."  
  
"Good, good, now piss off. Bywater, get this idiot out of my sight before Stannis bursts a blood vessel from having to listen to this horse shite," Robert grumbled. "Let it be known that in exchange for his help getting the Crown's money back, this Smythe man is to be spared the block and sent to Braavos, never to return on pain of death. Now bring up the next one, damn it." Then, to himself, "Gods, a man can only take so much..."  
  
Privately, Juutilainen wholeheartedly agreed.  
***  
"That went well," Tyrion observed as the King departed for his hunt with Yohn Royce and Mace Tyrell, Juutilainen and Pavlichenko assigned to keep him safe. The Hand nodded in agreement. Stannis Baratheon glared at Mace's retreating form and ground his teeth.  
  
"Agreed," Tywin growled. "A good mix of mercy and iron. Despite the drink and the obvious boredom, I think that the royal dignity has been maintained."  
  
"We will need to work on the boredom," Lord Stark noted. "But overall--Robert judged the court well, I thought. He listened to most every complaint, and judged honorably."  
  
"A bit too favorably to the smallfolk, perhaps," Tywin replied. "We don't want another Aegon the Fifth."  
  
"That knight _clearly_ raped that inkeeper's daughter, there were three witnesses--" Lord Stark shot back.  
  
"And now his family will be outraged! We cannot afford--"  
  
Stannis added his own two coppers. "It was the law! There were witnesses, Lord Commander Bywater himself noted their testimony."  
  
"I don't care about the damn law, I care about keeping the King on his throne!"  
  
"MY LORDS!" yelled Tyrion at the top of his little lungs. The three bickering men looked down. "Perhaps you can stop chattering at each other like bickering chickens over minutiae and focus on the pressing debt problem? That is, the entire reason why we have sent His Grace out on a damned hunt? Father, the King needs to project an image of fairness and stability. Angering one man's knightly family will not break the realm, and a man cannot be expected to sit through a court session that long without a drink. The boredom...yes, we need to help the King be less obviously bored to sleep through the majority of the cases. And he could piss on Lord Stannis less, in my estimation. But by and large, can we all not agree that today went about as well as planned?"  
  
The other three men looked at each other, and grudgingly nodded. Tyrion smiled. "Good. Then we should return to the Red Keep, finish the inventory, send Lord Stark back to his investigation, and get some rest when the sun goes down. There is work to do tomorrow morning."  
  
Behind the three lords, their bodyguards for the night discussed a different matter.  
  
"Damn fine job by your Juutilainen," the Hound growled. "Getting the King to head out without a feast? Heh, I heard that fat flower grumble all the way to the gates."  
  
"Lord Tyrell did seem rather upset at missing dinner," Audie Murphy agreed. "I'm more surprised that the King skipped it, though. He seems to like eating."  
  
"I dunno if like's the word, really," the Hound mused, hawking up a glob of spit and mucus and spitting on a nearby wall, hitting a cockroach with pinpoint accuracy. "He's like me with the booze and whores. Man ain't getting any pleasure out of it. He's doin' it because this world's shit layered on shit with a side of a sword rammed up your ass, and what other way is there to deal with it?"  
  
Audie nodded. That made sense. "Like shell-shock. He's a veteran, too. And the way he told his story..." Audie grimaced. "It's not right, this world. But, hell. We're going to fix it, right?"  
  
"Damn right," growled the Hound. "You need to tell me more about this 'jury of my peers' shite, that sounded damn good."  
  
"Oh, the jury system--well, as near as I can remember, it works like this; you have the person who's on trial, then a dozen people who are all from around town, chosen at random. And if they can't all agree that you're guilty, you walk. Means a bit more work for the police, but there's no price too high for freedom."  
  
"Your people do love their freedom, eh outlander?" Sandor growled.  
  
Audie nodded. "We fight wars for it," he replied curtly, but not without a current of pride. "Freedom is everything to us Americans. We aren't perfect, but...well, we're better at it than most, I dare say."  
  
The Hound spat sideways, and nodded. "Not bad. Breeds some good fuckin' fighters, anyway." He spat again. "If you find a way back...I might just come with you."  
***  
_The Wall_  
  
"What did this...'Other'...look like, then?" the Old Bear growled.  
  
"Man-shaped, but pure white, colder than ice," the Kingslayer reported from his bed, frostbitten face beginning to scar and . "Thin but muscular, well-formed. Angular face. The armor reflected the surroundings like it was made of ice. The eyes..." Jon saw Jaime Lannister shiver in fear. "Like chips of ice. Blue, but they were so _cold_ they seemed to burn. The sword was some sort of ice, it melted with the Other when I stabbed it."  
  
"And you killed it with a razor?"  
  
"A shaving-blade made of obsidian from Dragonstone," Jaime nodded, wincing in pain as Maester Aemon treated his frostbitten stump. "It has been exchanged between winners of duels among the men for some time ever since its original owner died. It made the Other shatter and melt--not that it did Qhorin Half-hand much good." Jaime sniffed and wiped his eyes with his free hand. "Poor damned bastard. I liked him, he was a damn good fighter and a good man besides. He didn't deserve to go out like that."  
  
Jeor Mormont turned the blade over in his hands. "Were it not for the still-moving dead hand and the stories of your companions, I would think this an absurd fantasy," he said finally. "But there can be no mistake. The Others are real, and they have returned. Snow, send ravens to every major House in the North, to King's Landing, and to all of the Lords Paramount. They _must_ know, at once."  
  
"Yes, sir!" Jon saluted and ran out. The open stretch of wall outside the meeting-room was rather packed with Black Brothers, who were distracting themselves from the dark news by watching Joffrey try and fail to cut wood with an axe. Currently the Royal Brat had thrown the axe on the ground in frustration and was attempting, red-faced, to explain to the training-master that his parentage excused him from menial servants' tasks and that the log was cheating by not breaking.  
  
"Put yer back into it, bastard!" yelled Dolbert, a former petty thief. "Ye gots ter _work_ up here, idiot!"  
  
"A day's stable duty says he doesn't chop three whole logs," a nearby former hedge knight offered. "At least, before Ser Thorne loses his temper."  
  
"Sod off, that's got balls on," a Flea Bottom lad who'd been sent north for knifing a rival bowl-of-brown seller in a business dispute argued. "'Leastways, when ye're goin' on 'bout him makin' it past one log! Th'lad can't make even one!"  
  
"You have a bet," the ex-hedge-knight shot back. Palms were extended, spit flew, and a shake sealed the deal.  
  
"Who's still in the pool for the Royal Brat falling off the wall?" Jon asked as he passed.  
  
"Hairy Hal, Strong, and three of the Marcher lads," one of the unofficial scorekeepers hollered back. "Plus a bunch of the boys who are betting on an 'accident' rather than a real fall. You've got protection duty this week, Snow, so you'd better be rested up!"  
  
Jon groaned. He'd been roped into Brat-Guarding Duty in exchange for a share of the chores, but that didn't mean he tolerated the Royal Brat's pointless cruelty any better than the others. "Alright! I have ravens to send first, though!"  
  
"Ravens?" Several men were looking up from the spectacle of Joffrey falling flat on his ass in response to being howled at by the training master now. "Where to?"  
  
"King's Landing, Winterfell, Highgarden, the Eyrie--everywhere. Lord Commander Mormont is calling for aid."  
  
"So it's true, then?" asked Jens, a Reachman who'd stolen from a noble's castle. "You and the Kingslayer really fought an Other?"  
  
Jon felt his gorge rise at the thought of _facing an Other_ again, and forced it down, trying to cover it with a nod. "Y...yes. It's true. They've returned.'  
  
"But we can kill 'em, right?" Dolbert asked fearfully.  
  
"The winner's razor killed one," Jon answered. "Normal steel harms them not, but the obsidian killed the one that killed Half-hand."  
  
The other men looked as pale as Jon felt. The odds weren't good at all.  
  
"That razor's obsidian," one of the ex-hedge knights noted. "Dragonstone glass. Expensive to get up here. If that's all that kills them..."  
  
"...then we'd better hope His Grace's brother can mine the stuff, and fast," another black brother finished. "Oh gods."  
  
"You send them ravens, Snow," Jens said. "You send them ravens, and fast."  
  
"I'll help," an ex-hedge knight offered. "I know letters."  
  
"Me, too," offered a former merchant's son who'd killed another man over a woman. "I know my figures better, but I have letters."  
  
"Come on, then," said Jon. "The King needs to know."  
***  
_The Kingswood._  
  
"You have been quiet today, king man."  
  
Robert Baratheon grunted in acknowledgement. The other lords had already retired, leaving some scattered men-at-arms on watch and Robert still sitting by the fire with Juutilainen. "That I have."  
  
"Speak, king man. I thought you liked hunting, and you have barely said a word, even over the boar."  
  
"I don't know," the King of all Westeros muttered. "I haven't been to the whorehouse in a month at least, I lost count of the days, and it's not even the discipline at this point, the idea of just fucking a random whore isn't...doesn't make my stag rise, if you know what I mean. And now hunting...before, you know, all that's happened, killing a boar, I'd feel like I used to in the old days, back when it was just me and Ned and the world before us. But now? Now it's hollow. I don't feel a damned thing."  
  
Juutilainen passed the King some thin ale. "Here. Drink. I know this feeling, as well."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yes. A man comes home from war, and he knows nothing but war. A man's son dies, he knows nothing but having a son."  
  
"Son. Heh. I had two sons, now I have none. I had a daughter, now I have none. Except my bastards, and Cersei never let me really know them."  
  
"You miss the children, then?"  
  
Robert took a swig, swallowed, and spat sideways. "Yeah. I do. Joffrey, he was a little shit, but Tommen, he's a sweet lad, very clever or so his septa said, and Myrcella is such a lovely girl, I should've gotten her dresses or some shite like that, but Cersei hated it whenever I tried to, you know, talk to them." He spat again. "Bitch. But I've been a shitten father, Finn."  
  
"No argument there," Juutilainen agreed.  
  
"I've been a shitten father, a shitten friend, and a shitten King." Another swig. "Heh. Why the Seven Hells am I still going, eh?"  
  
"That is easy to answer. You are a soldier. You have a heart full of _sisu_. It will take more than betrayal and honesty to break you."  
  
"What in the seven fucking hells does _sisu_ even mean, eh?"  
  
Juutilainen chuckled. "Courage. Will. Fire. Grit. Sometimes, suicidal overconfidence. We Finns, we are honest with ourselves, and can be very stupid at times, doing things like holding the Kollaa against most of the Soviet army in the middle of winter, and walking off exploding bullets to the jaw like _valkoinen kuolema_ did."  
  
Robert snorted with quiet laughter, too. "I know that feeling, heh. That was me as a lad, charging into battle with Rhaegar Targaryen cool as you please, swinging my bloody great hammer around. He'd brought one, or been stronger, or faster, I might well be dead."  
  
"Nonsense. You are a fine soldier. A real man, with Finnish grit and Finnish courage." The Finn slapped Robert on his back. "You would have won. And now, you will make it through, and come out the better man for it. You have other children?"  
  
"Yes. My bastards. Mya Stone in the Eyrie, Edric Storm in Storm's End, a few others I think. But they probably either don't know me or hate me." The King took another drink and swore. "Damn it all. You're right. I need to find something _fun_ outside of feasting and telling that fop Tyrell about how you whip me into form." He took another drink to steel his nerves. "I'll look in on Myrcella; the whore can't keep me from her now, now that they're both in the sept. I can make sure Myrcella's doing well, see if I can't get her a nice quiet sept or a position in a good noble house teaching the children. Shit. I just wish...that it had been different, you know?"  
  
"I think we all do," the Finn agreed. "You, Lord Stark, Tywin Lannister, all. For different reasons, of course. I was surprised at the venom that Lord Lannister threw at his daughter."  
  
Robert snickered at that. "Hells yes. 'Idiot slattern, dishonoring our name for your childish lusts'. I don't think I'll ever forget the look on the bitch's face. Who knew old stiff-rumped Tywin Lannister could be so damned fiery? Ha, I almost like the man. A bit harsh, but smart, and I need smart."  
  
"He and Lord Stark have asked me to discuss the succession with you," Juutilainen said carefully. "Lord Lannister said that I 'have His Grace's ear'."  
  
"Stannis is my brother, isn't he? He can inherit and be happy about it, stiff ass that he is. Unless...no. Bad idea, never mind."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I was thinking about legitimizing Edric Storm. But that's a terrible idea, piss off Lannister and Stannis both. No, better Stannis, then get one of Ned's boys for his Shireen. Maybe the young one, he seemed an active young lad. Stannis'll grind his teeth, of course, but he'll obey, him and his damned duty."  
  
The Finn nodded. "I suppose that works."  
  
They sat in silence for several more minutes, the fire crackling merrily in the dark. Then, Juutilainen spoke up again.  
  
"I have been talking with the Soviet, Audie Murphy, and _valkoinen kuolema_. A knighthood means nobility, yes?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Seven hells! I should get around to knighting you lot, you've done me damn fine service. Whipped me back into shape, your scarred man cut that bastard Baelish's balls off, heh, and your man Murphy is cleaning the seven hells out of the streets. Ned brought up something about a lordship?"  
  
"Yes. We have discussed with Lord Stark and Lord Lannister. We have a proposal--I am made a Lord, Simo and Audie Murphy into knights. The Soviet, a Lady. Lord Stark has an abandoned keep in a place called the Stony Shore that he thinks will house us well. We then will have the status and power to challenge knights and lords who would do you harm in the sight of all."  
  
Robert chuckled. "Oh, that's a good one! Heh, forget that shore, at least for you. I have a keep lying around the Crownlands, I think, left by one of the Mad King's loyalists who fled to Essos. I let the Stauntons hold it, I think, in trust, but I can still grant the damned place. You want it? Not a big keep, but enough for a house and family. You'd be a full Lord, though a small one, and swear directly to me."  
  
Juutilainen nodded. "Yes, sir. I accept."  
  
"Good man! Here, I've been a poor host; have the ale back." Robert slapped the Finn on the back and stood. "Well, you've given me a lot to think about, Juutilainen. And tomorrow, you show me that pretty weapon of yours in action, eh?"  
  
"I will be proud to do so, sir." The King wandered off to his tent, the Finn standing and following somewhat behind him, then taking his place outside. Juutilainen smiled to himself as he leaned against a tall stump, gun ready but pointed at the ground. The king man would make it. The Queen's betrayal had shaken him, but his training and recovered discipline were serving him well. The soldiers could still see this course through.

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a little rougher than previous chapters, IMO. Might come back and edit it a bit later on. Plus side, I finally got the big Jaime-kills-an-Other scene the way I wanted it. 
> 
> As usual, Ukrainian is mostly insults (in this case, "Finnish son of a bitch", "blockhead", and "use the fucking gun!"). 
> 
> The next chapter is probably going to take a while because finals are looming. Thank you for reading!


End file.
